Cleansing Fire
by Sage Clover
Summary: Withdrawal from mortal substances could be lethal if not done carefully and in the view of trained medical professionals. Tying Sam to a metal table and locking him in the panic room? Not a good idea.


Bingo Square: Afraid

Pairing: None

Rating: T

Wordcount: 1554

CW: Demon blood addiction, blood, vomit (not as graphic as the blood), possible suicidal ideation

There is no character death in this story, but it's still dark.

* * *

"You are nothing." "You as good as killed me." "Everything would have been better if you had never been born."

Sam screamed, thrashing against the leather binding him to the metal bed. Sleep did not come easily and when there was sleep, it was nightmares full of blood and fire.

Mary and Jess taunted him, blaming him for killing them as though it was he who had snuffed the life from their bodies. Even as he watched them burned, screaming and trying so hard to save them, they condemned him.

And Sam cried, screaming and wailing, afraid and aching as his body both rejected the demon blood and demanded that he give it more and he was almost begging for the sweet relief of death because coupled with the reminder of the absolute disappointment and disgust in Dean's gaze, death would have been better than having to deal with this Hell.

Sam ached everywhere. His wrists and ankles hurt from tugging on the leather binding, his face hurt from screaming and crying, and his stomach rolled, revolting from detox and demanding more and he didn't even know what would be worse.

So Sam cried, and at some point he begged for anything from the God he had spent most of his life believing in because it was comforting, even if Dean only mocked him for that faith. And then they'd met the dick angels and Sam didn't know what he wanted anymore.

He didn't care about Hell and he didn't care about Heaven, but he cared about forgiveness from the deity he'd spent his entire childhood begging for Dean to return home safely. And even if He wasn't real, Dean had never died on a hunt so he wanted to believe that maybe Someone had been looking out for them. But then Dean had sold his soul for Sam's life and Sam screamed at the injustice of everything. He shouldn't have had to live without Dean, he wasn't supposed to have tried to live without Dean. It wasn't ever supposed to be a possibility!

But it was. But it had been, and Sam cried, his emotions causing the demon blood to throw his bed around the room and he didn't even care. The walls rattled around him, and all Sam wanted to was let go.

"Our Father, who art in Heaven," he whispered brokenly, delirious, and not even sure what he was doing except that the repetition of the words brought a small measure of peace to his delirious and fever wracked body. "Hallowed be Thy name. They Kingdom come, Thy will be done, on Earth as it is in Heaven."

What was the real goal? Anna had implied that human emotions were better than anything angels were allowed to feel. But human's capacity to love was _free will _. There was no destiny there, not humans doing whatever the Hell they wanted to do.

"Give us this day, our daily bread, and forgive us our sins as we forgive those who trespass against us." He should not have fallen for the web Ruby had designed for him so beautifully. He should have seen it as the temptation that it was. He couldn't believe that he was destined to be nothing more than the King of Hell that Azazel had designed him to be, but he just had no idea what God had intended his purpose to be. "And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

He had fallen so far into temptation, how was he even supposed to start making amends for it all? But that didn't necessarily mean he _couldn't _change the way he lived his life, did it? The AA and the NA existed for a reason, right? He did not like what the demon blood did to him, even as much as he had only wanted to save so many lives. The road to Hell was paved with good intentions, after all.

"For Thine is the Kingdom and the Power and the Glory, forever and ever."

What did that even mean? Sam's exhausted and fevered mind wondered. The angels either wanted to stop the apocalypse, or they wanted to bring it about, divine retribution and the final battle between Michael and Lucifer and all that jazz, _Revelations _, he wasn't entirely sure what. They were pushing for Lilith to die, yes, but no one had ever outright said what the final seal even was. _And these angels didn't even like humanity, the mud monkeys._

Sam coughed, and coughed. He coughed so hard that he was retching and he didn't like the copper taste in the back of his throat that made him gag more as a reminder of how nasty the demon blood was that had got him into this mess in the first place.

Even though he was hoarse and dizzy, he rambled into another prayer because it was the only thing he could think of that might make him feel a little less slimy with all the sins he had committed. "Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and the Holy Spirit, both now and always, and unto the ages and ages."

Was he supposed to be praying? Castiel had said if they prayed to him, he could hear it, and he always came when Dean prayed, even though he was always so irreverent.

No one had ever come when Sam prayed. Castiel didn't even come when Sam prayed for him to come when he was in the same room as Dean, even if Dean just repeated the prayer a minute later when he didn't come for Sam.

Maybe he was so tainted the angels couldn't hear him. That would be better than if they were outright ignoring him, and maybe safter too. What would they even do to him if they came now? He was at his weakest, all of his strength sapped by the withdrawal, and he was tied, prone, to a stupid metal table. It wasn't a bed, it was just a table. It would be so easy to smite him with a single thought, but at least it would be an instantaneous death, so much faster than wasting away to the withdrawal.

Sam didn't really want to stop, and at least by praying he could feel like he was talking to someone else rather than just rambling on to himself. Reciting some of the common prayers as a child had felt a lot like meditating. "My God, I am sorry for my sins with all my heart." There was no way that his actions _hadn't _been sinful, and going through withdrawal was going to just be the first step in trying to recover from that and move on with his life. If he survived.

"In choosing to do wrong and failing to do good, I have sinned against You whom I should love above all things." He loved his God, and maybe he had been less faithful after leaving Stanford, but that didn't mean that he was living the life he _wanted _to live. "I firmly intend, with Your help, to do penance, to sin no more, and to avoid whatever leads me to sin." Ruby was a demon. He should have killed her the second she said she was in a dying host. Instead he had followed her so far into sin there was probably no way he could ever make up for it, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try. He _hated _feeling like this.

"Our Saviour Jesus Christ, suffered and died for us. In His name, my God, have mercy. Amen" Sam stumbled through the last bit of the prayer. He was so tired and exhausted, and as he retched again, he could feel his strength failing.

Sam coughed. His ribs hurt, and he closed his eyes because he didn't want to look at the blood he was sure to be coughing up. He coughed harder, and, _Oh, God _, his lungs hurt.

Finally, finally the coughing subsided. But he realized he couldn't breathe. Not through his nose, not through his mouth. His lungs were on _fire _and he couldn't breathe.

He blinked, wondering if this was it. It took a healthy person three minutes to asphyxiate, but he wasn't healthy, hadn't been in a long time.

There was a flash of white light, bright enough to blind Sam, and he couldn't help but wonder if this was what dying would feel like. But even though he couldn't remember what happened after he'd died, he did recall the moment Jake had stabbed him in the back, and there had been no light.

Closing his eyes did not help to block it out, and he curled in on himself as much as he was able, despite being tied to the table. He was afraid, but he didn't know _why _. There was no reason to fear death. The only thing he had to be afraid of was living another day with the mindless need for _more. _He was done with the demon blood, even if the demon blood wasn't done with him.

As the voice said, "It's okay, Samuel. You are loved, and everything will be alright," there was a moment of clarity. This was Raphael, Archangel of Healing, and maybe, _maybe _, maybe there _was _a God who cared.


End file.
